


dance with me (where they can see)

by Honora



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4251213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honora/pseuds/Honora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On one hand, Barry's chosen for this amazing production and he's the <em>lead,</em> so that's something to consider.<br/><br/>On the other hand, he's under a lot of fire for it, his co-lead is Leonard Snart (his year-long nemesis), and he has to pretend to date him in the name of good publicity.<br/><br/>It seems the cons outnumber the pros, and Barry swears he used to be good at math, yet here he is anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dance with me (where they can see)

**Author's Note:**

> a million thanks to [ coldflashtrash ](http://coldflashtrash.tumblr.com/), for making this a million times better with her (very patient) help.  
>   
> a glossary of the terms used can be found [ here ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_ballet). i drew a lot from it, because i figured a dancer would have a more technical view. still, let me know if i should go with smoother descriptions?

“Are you nervous?” The girl sitting next to him asks. Barry is surprised at the suddenness of it; she’d been so quiet until now.

They’re both sitting on the hallway floor, along with half the other dancers, because the single bench was already full when Barry arrived. The general feeling of apprehension that always permeates these events is present today, so people around them either clam up with their nerves or talk excessively as a means to distraction. The result is the hallway being filled with chatter around them, creating a bit of a ruckus, but he’s used to it.

Audition days are always like this: crowded and chaotic.

They have already started calling numbers inside, but it’ll still be a while until it gets to his. Barry had been taking the opportunity to start his stretching early, making sure his body will be ready for the harder exercise that will follow. He’s in the middle of reaching for his feet, stomach pressing against his legs, when she gets his attention, and he turns to her without pausing, so he’s looking at her sideways.

She doesn’t look much younger than him – admittedly, that would be hard –, but she acts more inexperienced, so he guesses she hasn’t been to as many of these as he has. She keeps biting her lip and wringing her hands, and it tugs at his heartstrings immediately.

“Sure,” he tells her, in a friendly tone. “It’s normal to be nervous. You just can’t let it rattle you.”

She nods, and gives sings of going back to her silent stress, so he straightens and offers her a hand.

“I’m Barry,” he tells her. She introduces herself as Cassie. “What part are you after?”

She smiles shyly, tugging a string of blond hair behind her ear. “Well, everybody always wants Giselle, right?”

“It _is_ a beautiful part. When did you start dancing?” He grins encouragingly. It’s easy, then, to keep her talking, distracting her from the nerves that hit so much harder when you haven’t grown used to them yet. Someone did the same for his in his first times, and Barry had always wanted to do it for other people, given the chance. It costs him nothing, and when their numbers get called up, she seems calmer. It’s worth it.

The group moves into the studio, a medium size rectangular space covered in mirrors, the bars to one side, and the managers’ table at the far end. Barry glances at them, trying and failing to be discreet. But he’s curious; it’s the first time he sees them since the last manager retired from the company, and he doesn’t know a lot about them.

Two older men with graying hair and laugh lines around their eyes. He sympathizes with them right away, though seeing them clenches something in his gut. These are the man he needs to impress.

Right as he’s thinking that, one of them happens to glance his way, and so of course that’s the exact moment he slams into another dancer.

Just his luck.

He takes the worse of the impact, stumbling back a couple of steps, but fortunately doesn’t fall. He has the vague sensation he slammed against a tree bark. The other doesn’t help him.

“Watch where you’re going, kid,” the man complains, and _oh._ Barry knows that gruff voice. His mood sours.

“Ugh,” he says, taking in the other man. “It’s _you.”_

Leonard Snart looks the same as he remembers, same short dark hair, same cold blue eyes, same insufferable smirk that he aims at Barry now.

“Me,” he mocks, then glances pointedly at the wall clock. “Aren’t you out past your bedtime?”

Barry rolls his eyes. “Why are you even here? There are no thug parts in _Giselle_.”

Snart glares at him.

“Alright people, come closer,” the choreographers calls, stopping them before they can go very far. “We’re gonna start with some stretching, then move on to choreography. Let’s see what you can do.”

Snart moves to join the group, forcefully slamming Barry with his shoulder as he goes. Barry bristles.

 _Leonard Snart,_ he thinks, taking his place among the other dancers. _Freaking Snart. I can’t believe it._

He’d honestly thought he’d gotten rid of Snart after that one disastrous show way back at the beginning of his career, when his time had been split into dancing, arguing Snart, and trying not to go crazy. At least he was only a part of the corps then; the added pressure of a large part might have killed him.

Still, he shouldn’t be so surprised. He’d been running into Snart on and off for years now, whenever it would be less convenient. But they’d never worked together again, at least.

He’s selfish enough to hope that stays true.

As they follow the choreographer to the bars, he happens to catch Snart’s eyes again. He can feel himself frowning, and the other man’s features color in disdain.

 _Iris is going to laugh so much,_ he thinks, and forces himself to focus on the moves.

 

 

After, Barry gets told to wait a while, as the other groups perform. But given his late arrival, and consequentially high number, it’s not a very long wait. There aren’t that many people behind him.

Soon enough the choreographer comes back, rattling off the numbers chosen, asking them to return to the hallway until they’re called for individual performance. Barry is among them.

So, he notices, is Snart.

Nothing is perfect.

Even though there are a lot less people now, and that each sequence lasts about three minutes each, Barry is still going to be waiting a good time. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. In audition day, the waiting is almost as integral to the process as the dancing. But to him, it’s always the worst part. He can make himself forget the worry as he dances, letting all his awareness be on the way his body moves, but the long stretches of immobility are torture. He’s not a naturally patient person, and it takes little to leave him antsy. He’s gotten better at dealing with it, but it’s still hard.

Especially since he hasn’t much to distract him now; nobody is as inclined to talk as before. He has to work around his stress alone. He figures he might as well stretch some more, just to be sure he’ll be ready. It’s not like he has anything better to do; all his friends are at work at the moment, and he doesn’t want to interrupt just because no one else will talk to him. So exercising it is.

But before he starts, he digs the Tupperware with the crackers from his bag. It’s been almost three hours since his last meal – better to be safe than sorry.

He notices the odd glances, but it’s nothing he hasn’t gotten before, so he doesn’t bother explaining. He’d _offer,_ but most of them look too queasy to eat.

By the time the numbers get closer to him, he’s standing up, doing _fondus_ with the wall working as his bar, but he begins paying more attention as people get called in.

He watches Cassie, the blonde girl from earlier, go in, and he’s happy to see that she’s made it this far, though she looks a little green. She sees him looking, and he offers her a thumbs up and a smile. She grins back, shakily.

He sees Snart get called, and offers him nothing, but still gets a slow trailing of eyes down his body, followed by a sneer, like Snart’s judging his form. Barry resists putting his tongue out at him.

Finally, the choreographer puts her head out the door.

“73?” Barry gathers up his stuff and hastens after her. 

Somehow, the room looks so different without the other dancers, much larger and more daunting. The only thing unchanged is the table where the two elder managers sit, his judges. The woman guides him directly to them.

“Good morning,” the one on the left, with the grayer hair, smiles at him. It’s so friendly Barry finds it impossible not to return, despise his nervousness. “My name is Jay Garrick, and this is my colleague Alan Scott. You’ve probably never heard of us, Mr…?”

“Barry Allen. And no. I mean, _no_ , I have. I read about you taking over in the arts section of the Central City Picture News,” he also heard the whole story from trade gossip, but it’s impolite to acknowledge it, even if everyone knows it’s there.

“Ah, that’s nice. And here I thought no one read that old thing anymore,” Mr. Garrick says, sharing an amused glance with the other man, and Barry remembers Iris mentioning one of them used to collaborate with that section, when Barry brought up the news.

“Way at the beginning,” she’d said, scrapping the leftovers on her plate into the garbage. “A million years ago. Before dad was born, even,” and Joe had flicked dishwater at her.

In a way, it makes both of them seem more human now, but it also raises the bar. How long have these men been involved with ballet? Two of Barry’s lifetimes? _Three?_ How high must their expectations be?

“We were hoping you could shows us something of yours today, Mr. Allen,” Alan Scott tells him. “Your own choreography.”

“No preference of style,” Mr. Garrick adds. “But we’d like to see what you can come up with on your own. Can you do that?”

Barry nods, affecting a certainty he doesn’t feel. Appearing confident is official rule number one of the trade.

Fake it till you make it is unofficial number two.

But it won’t be so bad, he reasons. He has the skills, so he knows the dance, and what works better for him, and he’s got the experience, so he’s done it before, knows what works best for _them_ , what they expect, what looks better. He can pull it off.

The issue is just choosing, at random, what to go with, but he figures what feels natural will be best. Briefly, he considers drawing from his training routine, but he shoves the thought away. Sure, he’s repeated that one to perfection, but it has… _particularities_ that make it not fit for this setting. What works when he’s home alone and what works in an audition are two very different things.

He moves to the other end of the room, corner right, and takes up first position. Hoping he still has the veneer of aplomb in place, he turns his focus to himself. So much of ballet is keeping rigorous control of every part of your body, every limb, every expression, all working together in perfect harmony under one rhythm. It’s not an easy task, and it can only be accomplished with a calm mind, above distraction or panic. It’s impossible to dance if your head isn’t 110% focused, and it’s impossible to that if you let yourself be swayed from your concentration.

It’s not so different from meditation, which he learned for this exact reason. He lets himself go to a place inside his own mind, allowing a steady calm to come over him. He feels conscious of every inch of his skin.

He takes a long breath. It’s loud in his ears.

When the sign come that he can start, Barry _moves._

He starts slow, in _adagio_ movements, no leaps yet, nothing showy. It’s always best to start small.

At first he keeps to _battements_ , his legs moving slowly as his arms go to fifth position. He slides across the floor in a delicate pace, wanting his moves elegant and his technique shining through clearly. He transforms an _attitude_ to a _balancé_ , glides to third position, and spins with a _fouetté_.

And when he spins, he speeds.

He continues just a little faster, _battements_ turning to _arabesques_ , moves becoming slightly more elaborate and showy as he goes. His arms start flowing more openly, his legs move more. He stops _en pointe_ and raises one until it’s over his head, perfectly straight, showing his stretch. He spins a _fouetté_ again.

And again, he speeds up. This time he adds leaps to his choreography, pirouettes, becoming more dramatic, and always quicker, till he’s in _allegro_ instead of _adagio_ , executing movements he couldn’t before: a _glissade précipitée_ leading to a perfect _pas de bourrée_ , a sequence of _déboulés_ , leaps that get higher and more open every time he executes one.

The only thing that doesn’t change is that, when he turn in _fouetté_ , he speeds. More and more till everything is a blur, one position turning into another seamlessly because there’s no time to linger, his rhythm frantic. They gave him no music but he could imagine the orchestra speeding up along with him, giving the scene a feel of drama, of chase, of danger. Of building anticipation, because it started so slow and sweet. 

But the only music present is that of his pounding feet, and Barry dances to it, dances all the way across the room, and just as it reaches a crescendo –

It stops.

He stops, gliding easily back to first position, at the exact other end of the room from where he started, his choreography kept to a perfect diagonal. The sudden stillness is jarring, as dramatic as the last moments of the dance were, and the contrast between them, moving and standing, rattles at him. His breathing is hard, and sweat is forming at his neck and forehead.

But the mask of poise is still in place, and he looks calmly to his observers, before taking a bow.

“Thank you, Barry,” Mr. Scott says warmly, and starts muttering agitatedly with his partner. The choreographer starts gently shushing him out, talking about the line-up being out the next morning, but before she can get him out the door, Jay Garrick calls them back.

“Actually, if it’s not too much trouble, we’d like you to wait for the other auditions to be over, if possible,” he says, and Barry frowns. He’s not the only one confused; he woman next to him has her head cocked to the side, eyebrows arched.

So it’s not a surprise only to him.

“Uhm, sure, I guess,” he worries at his lower lip. “What’s this about?”

The managers exchange a charged look, but their smiles stay genuine when they’re aimed at him.

“We’d just like a word with you,” Mr. Scott assures him. “Nothing to be worried about.”

Easier said than done, but Barry nods regardless. There’s a tight feeling in his chest, however.

Still, when Mr. Garrick gives him one last vague smile before nodding thoughtfully at something the other man says, he feels a bit more at ease.

 

 

Eventually, after what feels like hours and hours of staring at a blank wall and _worrying,_ a different choreographer, this one a man, comes to get him.

Barry has managed to find his way to a waiting room, not far from the studio he just left. It would feel wrong to go too far, for as long as it feels he’s tied to it, fate hanging in the balance.

As he follows the man, this is the only thing he can think of, still, as it has been since he was told to wait.

 _Did I do well? Did I not? What could this_ possibly _be about?_

He relies on his hard-earned experience to guide him through things; this has never happened before. There's no precedent for him to follow, and he's lost, trying to grasp meaning and find his cue from the expressions of the people in charge. It's an exercise in frustration more than anything else, but it's all he has.

“Just wait here,” the man tells him, depositing him back in the same hallway, now empty.

Almost empty.

“Oh, come on!” He groans, as soon as the man has skipped back inside. “Even here?!”

Snart gives him an unimpressed look over the book he’d been reading. His upper lip curls.

“What are you doing here, kid?”

“Me? They asked me to come, is what I’m doing here. What’s your excuse?”

“Same thing,” Snart says, with a maddeningly calm shrug.

Barry doesn’t believe him; something about the older man screams that he must have a sinister purpose to do anything, always, even if that purpose is just messing with Barry. But he can’t really argue it, so he flops down on the bench – a good space away from Snart, thank you very much – and sighs.

“I can’t imagine what they’d have to tell me that they’d also want to tell _you,_ ” he says, though Snart has already turned back to his book. Barry can’t read the title, but it looks thicker than anything he’d ever imagine Snart would read, if he’d ever imagined the man reading, or doing anything.

“You know,” he replies, fake-sweet, “I was thinking the _same_ thing.” 

Fortunately, it’s not five minutes until someone comes collect them.

“We’re glad you choose to stay,” Alan Scott tells them, which is a silly thing to say. Of course they did. Like anyone being asked to under the same conditions would leave.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we asked you to,” Jay Garrick says, and their expressions must say enough, because the corner of his lip twitches. “We wanted you to perform one more number for us.”

“Together?” Snart asks, taking the question out of Barry’s mouth.

They only nod, and Barry feels a hand at his shoulder. It’s the choreographer from before, the woman – now he wishes he knew her name -, guiding him to the opposite side of the room, where they learned the dance before.

“Come one, Barry. Listen…”

She seems to be unsure of how to go on. Her mouth curls like she’s thinking what she wants to say, but can decide how.

“Eyes on me, okay?” She settles on. He agrees, bemused.

He and Snart exchange a look, and the other man must feel as confused as Barry is, because he even forgets to appear unpleasant.

Then both choreographers take center stage, her back to his chest, positioning themselves like they’re in an embrace, and though a part of his mind understands right away, it takes a few movements for him to be able to voice it, even to himself.

It’s a _pas de deux._ They’re supposed to dance as partners.

He doesn’t look away, busy with learning the dance, but he wants to, feels the need to look up and see if it’s a joke, if they're having a laugh at his expanse. Wants to look at Snart and see if he’s amused, if it’s somehow his fault (because if it’s anyone’s, it must be his, surely). But he knows better than to turn his eyes from the teachers when he’s being shown something.

It’s not a complicated sequence; they glide together across the floor in simple movements, no lifts, few leaps. Barry has executed more difficult numbers before. But never the way he needs to now.

_Eyes on me._

He knows what his part in this will be.

It ends in a fish dive, probably the most complicated move of the sequence, and they hold it for a couple of seconds before straightening. Barry finally looks away.

Snart looks as surprised as he is.

Jay Garrick and Alan Scoot look… hopeful.

No one speaks as they take the place previously occupied by the instructors, but the look Barry and Snart give each other speaks enough. At first it’s slightly awkward, like neither knows how to proceed exactly, but then Snart’s eyes get something in them, like a challenge. Like he thinks Barry is the one who might fail at doing his job, like if anyone is going to screw this up it’ll be him. 

Barry is reminded he doesn’t actually like his guy. He narrows his eyes. 

When they’re in position, the older man a hot presence against his back, the atmosphere between them is charged. He doesn’t know if anyone else notices.

It’s not as easy as it could have been, and not because of the dance. Not only is it Barry’s first time in this position, but you’re supposed to trust your partner, and Barry _doesn’t,_ and he knows the feeling is mutual. There's always a slight hesitation, covered but there, every time he needs to accept without looking that the older man will be there to hold him, or that Barry needs to be somewhere for Snart to move. They pretend at moving seamlessly; they don't actually do it.

You’re not supposed to make it look like you’re fighting, either.

Not that they look bad, per se. He happens to catch a glimpse of them in one of the mirrors when he’s being spun around, and in a purely esthetic level, they look good together. They could very easily not, being almost of a height -  they could look weird together like puzzle pieces that don’t fit.

But Barry is lean and slight, and Snart is broader, more massive, and somehow their figures complete each other.

Even when it comes to how they move together, it’s not totally bad. Sure, they’re somewhat aggressive – Barry can _feel_ they are, and he knows it’s wrong because what they were shown was much softer, but he can’t help it. When Snart pushes, his instinct is to give back just as hard – but he supposes, with the right lighting, the right _mood,_ or even just the right amount of outsider's perspective, a crowd could easily be led to believe it wasn’t dislike but passion what they were seeing.

The thought feels weird before he’s even finished having it, so he pushes it away.

The finale is the hardest part for Barry. He’s being dipped with his legs off the ground, having to keep one of them up and stretched, and his only support comes from Snart. It takes a lot of confidence he doesn’t have to do it and make it look easy, not show the effort it takes to keep poise or the apprehension that he’s going to end up on the ground.

But he manages, and it works out. Snart holds him up, and from this close he could see his arms straining as he does so, his veins budging. But he’s not supposed to be looking, so he only feels it. The large muscles against his stomach, just barely trembling from the effort. He hadn’t realized how big they were until now, and he randomly wonders how much the other man must lift, regularly.

It feels like they spend a lot longer than the few seconds they had to in position, catching their breaths without moving outside of their mark and away from each other.

But when they do, no one looks upset about it. If anything, they look pleased. The choreographers offer them approving smiles, and Barry sees Mr. Scott smile at Mr. Garrick like the found what they were looking for.

All Barry wants is a clearer notion of what that is.

“That was wonderful, boys. Thank you”, Mr. Scott smiles at them, then gestures at the table. “Please, sit down.”

There are only their two chairs, but the instructors go get more. The woman pulling the one she’d been using during the day from the corner of the room while her partner leaves to go get another.

Snart sits at the first chair before Barry can, but he’s too distracted to roll his eyes.

When they’re both sitting down, the managers glance at each other, and Mr. Garrick begins speaking.

“I’m not sure how much you know about our career before we came here, but we used to be dancers, at first. That’s how we met, in fact. We even had a bit of a name to ourselves before we moved to the business side of things.”

“Which we did earlier than we could,” Alan Scott breaks in. “Because neither of us were happy with the way things were, and we knew change could only come from the higher-ups.

“In a dance like ballet, there are lots of traditions. Some of them are good, and stand at the core of the dance. Others shouldn’t exist in the first place. I felt – we both did – that some of these unnecessary traditions were really just restrictions, and turned the dance stiff in a way it didn’t have to be. We thought that change would be a breath of fresh air.”

“Things have evolved over the years. There are new companies doing new things, evolving the dance in new and exciting ways, and not afraid to take risks. It’s what we’ve always wanted to do, though it wasn’t as easy when we were just starting. Especially given that we always wanted to make change happen in the places traditions are strongest, and that’s not the new, independent corps. It’s the big players, the decades old companies in the centuries old theaters. It was hard. I often felt it wouldn’t go anywhere.”

Mr. Garrick pauses, and it's Alan Scott who takes over again, looking around himself with a sort of disbelief.

“And now we’re here. Gem Cities Ballet, Central Opera House – one of the biggest and oldest in the whole country. I almost can’t believe it.”

His voice trails off, and Barry wonders what that must feel like, dreaming about something your whole life and suddenly getting it. How long must it take before it stops feeling like a dream, is it ever does?

Jay Garrick fixes them with a piercing look. “Now listen. When we say ‘change’, we don’t mean new instruments in the orchestra, or unorthodox costumes. We mean the social aspect.

“We’ve been fighting for progress for different outcast groups for a lot of years now. You can guess it’s made several people very angry at us before, which in turn has made us very good at not caring. And now we’re here, and nothing we’ve done before has had the impact that what we’ll do here will have. We love classic ballet as much as any of our many critics, but we want new narratives. Same stories, perhaps, but from a different angle. You know this company has never presented a spectacle with a same sex lead couple?”

“We’ve got three planned,” Alan Scott smiles. “This winter’s production of _Giselle_ being the first.”

There’s a beat before anyone can say anything. When it happens, it’s not Barry. He can’t seem to find his voice.

“You…” Snart tries. “You didn’t advertise it.”

Mr. Garrick makes a face. “No, we didn’t. We’ve been through this before, to a smaller scale; we _know_ there’s criticism on the way. We learned it’s easier to deal with when the issue objected is already under way.”

“And you want us?” Barry asks in a voice that doesn’t feel like his own. Mr. Scott smiles at him, like he understands.

“You’re both very talented young men. We think you’d bring a lot to the production.”

“So, what do you think?”

Barry… doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to _feel._ This is– The size of it– In _this_ company– He never would have imagined he’d live to see it, much less _participate_ –

His mind is racing, thoughts zooming, chasing each other so he can’t even complete one. He can’t wrap his head over how great, how amazing, how _groundbreaking_  this is.

There are a few cherished moments in his life when Barry has felt like someone has looked at everything he is, at what he wants, and approved of him. Like when he told Joe and Iris he was bi and she baked him a cake and he taught him how to defend himself if someone bothered him and they both said it was fine. Like when he showed his father the video of his first recital taken in Joe’s grainy camera and he cried tears that were both happy for him – “Look at you, you’re first string,” – and sad because he hadn’t been there. There are moments he has been made to feel so completely content with who is, by other people, so few compared to how often someone has done the opposite. Each time is special to him, and he’s never forgotten.

But not once has he felt so completely validated by someone else as he does now. Both as a professional, for being chosen to do this when so many other people could have been, and as a person, because that’s what this is about, in the end.

Some people would refuse to look at him if he held another man’s hand in public. But these men want to take that and put it in one of the most consecrated art forms there is, Barry’s life and dream since he was nine, in one of the greatest stages in the country, and force people to look at it in a positive light.

It’s the best thing he’s ever heard. He has to fight not to cry in front of them.

“I’ll do it,” Snart says, roughly, almost aggressively, long before Barry has found a way to turn all that he's feeling into words. He turns to Barry, and again his eyes are all challenge, but his time there’s something furious in them, something almost scared. It’s a prickly sort of question that feels more like an accusation, as if he’s asking _w_ _ell, kid? What are you gonna do, huh?_

And for the first time since they’ve met, he feels like what he says might have the power to affect Snart in some way, like he’s vulnerable right now as he’s never been before, an exposed muscle that Barry can wound, somehow, if he says the wrong thing. The thing Snart is clearly bracing himself to hear.

He’s never been looked at like this before, the other person so raw even as they try to keep a disinterested face. He's never been looked at like the other person is expecting to be hit, and has angrily resigned to it.

It’s not a pleasant feeling.

“I’m in too, of course. This is amazing!”

He feels more than he sees Snart relax in the next chair. Alan Scott smiles.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. We had other options, obviously, but we were hoping you would agree. You have a lot of chemistry together.”

If anything, it serves to dissolve the mood a little. His face twitches against his will, and from the corner of his eyes he can see his new partner’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. Thankfully, they’re discreet enough that if anyone notices, no one mentions it.

“Okay then!” Jay Garrick rubs his hands. “Let’s talk paperwork.”

 

 

“To Barry!” Cisco shouts, raising his third shot too fast so that a little drips onto his hair. He doesn’t seem to notice. “For getting the most awesomest part in the most awesomest play! HOORAY!”

His friends all shout back, along with the people in neighboring tables within listening range who are cheerful enough – or drunk enough – to join in.

Cisco drops back to his seat, nearly sliding out of into Caitlin. Barry wonders if they’ll have to put a ban on any further drinking.

But then, no one else seems to mind. Even Caitlin is in her second Mai Tai, and shows no signs of stopping.

“I wish Ronnie were here,” she half shouts at him, which is a fairly common sentiment for her since her husband left on a research trip with Dr. Stein. “But he says congratulations and that he’ll be here by opening night. See?”

She trusts her phone at his face so it nearly hits his nose. He gently lowers it while smiling at her, trying not to laugh. He loves drunk Caitlin. “That’s nice.”

“Hey Bar,” Eddie leans over the table. His arm is around Iris, who winds up being pulled along. Barry supposes Eddie’s had his fair share or beers too. “When does rehearsal starts?”

“Monday, bright and early.”

“And you sure you can’t have one drink?” Cisco asks.

“Better not. I need to keep in top shape from now on,” it’s really okay though. He can live without alcohol, even if he wishes he could have a celebratory buzz going. Besides, his juice tastes great. He even got an umbrella on it.

“Well, don’t you forget to eat,” Iris reminds him, frowning. She’s even more on top of his eating than Joe, and Joe asks if he’s eaten before he asks how he’s doing.

“I never do,” he replies, and both Iris and Caitlin give him a look that says _sell that to another,_ _mate_.

He coughs. “Anyway, I’m really excited. This is the best thing ever,” he pauses, makes a face at the table. “Too bad it’s with Snart though.”

To his immense surprise, Iris throws her head back and laughs. Eddie almost drops his glass.

“Oh, I was waiting for this,” she giggles. “A repeat of last time. I missed hearing about your nemesis.”

“It was bad last time?” Eddie asks. Barry remembers he didn’t know Eddie when he first worked with Snart. Sometimes it’s hard to recall the man hasn’t been a fixture of their lives since always.

Iris nods. “Oh yeah. For the whole three months that show lasted all I heard was ‘Leonard Snart is this’ and ‘Leonard Snart is that’ and 'you won't believe what Leonard Snart did today' at all hours,” she winks at him. “Not that I minded. It was funny.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” he complains, and she gives him a pitying look, but it’s Caitlin and Cisco who answer, she by snorting in an uncharacteristic way and he by shaking his head.

“It’s because you didn’t listen to yourself, man,” he says. “I should have recorded you. Not that he didn’t suck,” he adds hastily. “I remember that time I visited rehearsal, he was awful. But still, you were _bad_. Capital ‘B’, bad. If I hadn’t met him I’d think you liked him or something.”

Barry scrunches up his nose and says “Gross,” at the same time Eddie asks “So you visited rehearsal?”

“Yep. It’s pretty cool. Confusing as all hell. Looks like lab when we have to demonstrate an experiment. ‘Cept nothing exploded. Speaking of which,” he turns to Barry, playing casually with his straw, and Barry narrows his eyes, knowing nothing good can come of it. “Any chance his sister might drop by this time?”

“You’re never going to rehearsal again,” he declares. 

Cisco pouts at him.

“I wonder what kind of epic fights are going to happen this time,” Caitlin asks vaguely. Iris laughs again.

“Remember the Great Pear Debacle of 08?”

“That pear was mine!” Barry defends himself. “He took it from _my_ tray! And then there were only pineapple slices left, you know I don’t like those.”

“What about the time you argued him over parking space?” Iris challenged. “Considering you don’t even have a car?”

“Well, Joe does,” he points out. “And he’d parked his stupid car in both spaces, that’s just rude.”

“Maybe, but did it really deserve a shouting match?”

Barry cringes, still happy that only Joe witnessed that one. It definitely wasn’t his best moment. But it’d been a month of having Snart stuck at his throat; he was at wit’s end. Besides, if the other man didn’t keep _baiting_ him…

“It doesn’t matter,” he decides. “I’m not going to let him bother me this time.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Cisco laughs.

“I’m _serious,_ ” Barry insists. “I’m not corps anymore, I’m lead. In the coolest show ever. It’s a chance you don’t get twice. I won’t let him make me look unprofessional.”

“Good,” Caitlin nods.

“If I do that, he wins,” he completes. Caitlin makes a face.

“Less good,” Eddie decides, but he raises his glass at him anyway. “Still, as long as you’re playing nice. Cheers!”

The others join in.

 _I’ve always played nice,_ a rebellious part of Barry pipes up. _It’s Snart who wouldn’t know nice if it slapped him across his stupid smug_ _face._

He smiles.                                                                                                           

 _Operation: Don’t Allow Leonard Snart to Screw With Me starts_ now, he promises himself.  

 

 

“Hey,” Iris slurs as he helps her up the stairs to her old room. She insisted in sleeping at Joe’s, claiming she wanted to cook him a celebration family breakfast in the morning. He has a feeling she won’t be in the mood for it when morning rolls in, but a determined Iris is not to be argued with, even if she can’t stand up on her on. “At leas’ he’s hot. Can’t be too bad if he’s hot, righ’?”

“Speak for yourself,” he replies, maneuvering her to bed.

“I’m _serious!_ ” She complains, rather loud, all of a sudden. She makes a point of turning to him and putting her hands on his shoulder, which makes his task of dropping her onto the bed and removing her coat and shoes a lot harder. She leans in, almost falling, trying and failing to look him in the eyes like she’s about to reveal the truth about life. “He’s all… sym’trical.”

He tries not to laugh at her expression.

“Okay then,” he says, gently pushing her down. “Sleep it off. Night, Iris.”

“G’night, Bar. Hey,” she half sits up when he’s almost at the door. “I’m r’lly  proud of you, you know?”

He can’t help but beam at her, and she smiles back, bright as the sun even if it's dizzy.

“Thank you, Iris,” he says, but he thinks she’s already asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr mirror can be found [ here ](http://tamirthegreat.tumblr.com/post/122981069761/the-fake-dating-ballet-au-chapter-one)


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